Warmth
by DarcieLeeds
Summary: Extreme cold can kill. Can warmth heal?


Her skin felt like ice, even against the coolness of his own hand. Her lips and fingernails were blue, and she was unable to respond to his voice. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was unfocused. It was a wonder that she had not drowned. The frigid pool still had a thin layer of ice over the top, broken in the center where she had fallen through. She had tumbled down the hill, feet probably slipping on a patch of frozen ground as she ran to get away from the armed droids. Their sensors were calibrated to detect body heat; anything over 36 degrees drew their immediate fire. The Doctor almost smiled at the irony. They would not pick up Rose now.

But there was no time for such thoughts. He had to get her warm, and he had few precious minutes in which to do so. The fingers he pressed over her wrist detected a dangerously slow pulse beat; she was suffering from hypothermia. He lifted her into his arms, knowing that the TARDIS was too far away. It would take him over half an hour to reach the ship, and she needed attention now.

He had noticed a small workshop—barely more than a shed—as he ducked in and out of the trees. He and Rose had split up in the hopes that the droids would be confused and have trouble tracking two humanoids. That was before he'd realized how their sensors were programmed. He'd managed to sneak up behind one droid and disable it, understanding with a pang that they posed little danger to him. His body temperature was lower than a human's, and the droids would not detect him. No wonder it had been so easy to overtake the one… And as he did, as he tinkered with its circuits, the others converged on Rose.

He was almost running now in his haste to reach the workshop. He hoped it would be deserted. He'd seen no other humans in the area since they'd landed. Most likely a couple of engineers or technicians dropped in every month or so to check on the droids. If he was lucky—and he wasn't entirely convinced that he was—today was not the day for the inspections.

The door to the workshop was frozen shut. His own hand felt stiff in the cold, but he managed to pull out the sonic screwdriver and heat up the small bolts and screws sufficiently to get them to turn. He opened the door and walked inside.

The building was deserted. A few tools lay about on the work table, and a chest marked "emergency supplies" was shoved up against one wall. The Doctor lowered Rose to the ground, hurrying to the chest to fling it open. Inside he found a few tins of some sort of meat, several bottles of water, a chemical lantern, a couple of clean rags, and a sleeping bag. He grunted in irritation at finding such meager provisions then grabbed the sleeping bag and rolled it out on the floor.

Rose was slumped against the wall, her hair and clothing stiff and frozen against her waxen skin. Quickly he pulled off her jacket, shirt, jeans, socks, and shoes. Her bra and panties were wet, too, of course, since she'd been fully submerged, and without hesitation he removed them. He used the rags to dry her skin and remove some of the water and ice from her hair. He worked as fast as he could, hands flying over her with sure yet gentle motions.

When she was relatively dry, he opened the sleeping bag and put her inside. He zipped it all around her, leaving only her head exposed. Her eyes were closed still, and her breathing was shallow. He crouched at her side, watching her for several minutes before slipping his hand down into the folds to feel the pulse at her neck. She had warmed very little, and her heart rate was still dangerously slow.

The Doctor stood, looking about the room. There was nothing to burn, no source of heat. And even if he could build a fire, smoke would fill the little building and alert the droids to their presence. There was only one way to bring some critical warmth to Rose.

He unzipped his jacket and carefully rolled it up to place under her head. Then he slipped off his jumper, jeans, shoes, and socks. He hesitated for an instant with his hand on the waistband of his shorts, then slid them down his legs to kick off. The more skin could come into contact with skin, the better. He unzipped the sleeping bag and slid in beside Rose to face her.

Her body was still very cold. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her back, rubbing very gently to try to stimulate the blood flow without harming the tissues left fragile and vulnerable by the freezing water. As he worked, he willed his own metabolism to speed up, focusing intently for a moment on his hypothalamus. He could control his body's processes to a significant degree, and he had never felt more glad for that than now. However, he could only raise his body temperature by a few degrees, and the higher it got the more chance there was for the droids to detect him.

With a small, grim grin he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver again. He gave it a twist then tucked it back inside. He hoped that the emissions would be enough to disrupt the droids' receivers. It was all he could do for the moment.

He returned his hands to Rose's back, moving them up and down, back and forth. He wrapped his leg over hers, pulling her even closer. He could feel her slow heartbeat against his own chest, and the tiny movement of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled almost imperceptibly. He concentrated, and his body temperature rose a bit more. He was nearly as warm as a human now.

Her hands and feet remained icy, and he cupped each appendage in his hands for some time then moved his palms softly up and down her legs, over and over again, until her skin felt less frigid. His fingers brushed up over her hips, against her belly and around her back. He did not permit himself to think about anything except increasing his temperature and hers.

But flashes of her slipping beneath the surface of the water, hair billowing out then vanishing, tried to invade his head, and he pushed them away. The fear that flooded him as he pulled her from the pool, before he'd felt the faint pulse beat, tried to clutch at his chest again, but he forced it back into some deep recess of his consciousness. He had to focus on the task at hand. He shook all other thoughts from his mind. Increase temperature, transfer the heat… it became his mantra, repeated silently over and over again. It kept the other images away.

Slowly she was warming, and he returned his own body to his former position, cradling her against his chest. He lay still, but he counted each heartbeat and breath she took, and finally they began to normalise. She stirred slightly, taking in a deeper breath, beginning to rouse from the hypothermic stupor.

Her core temperature was still low, and he didn't dare leave her until she was warmer. However, he did shift around, sliding over her to readjust himself so that he lay behind her. Somehow he thought that would feel less uncomfortable for her, and, admittedly, for him, too.

He kept one arm over her waist, carefully resting his hand against her chest, while he moved the other hand up to stroke her cheek. It was still cold, but at least she felt alive now.

"Rose," he said softly when he thought she might be aware.

"Mmm," she murmured. "Cold—water—so cold." Her speech was slightly slurred.

"Sshh, shush now. It's all right."

He felt something warm on his hand, and when he pulled it back from her cheek he saw that it was wet. With some alarm he lifted his head to look at her face. Tears were seeping from her eyes.

"Don't cry," he said, rather more brusquely than he intended, but unsure what to do in the face of her emotions. "You're safe now."

"Not… scared. Hurts." .

He had checked her fingers and toes for frostbite when he'd undressed her. That wasn't an issue. But still, the return of full circulation could cause some pain, and it was possible that she'd been injured in her fall.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

"Every…where."

Gently he moved his hand along her arm, slowly from her shoulder to her hand, then back up again. This seemed to soothe her; he noticed that she was breathing more steadily and her tears had stopped.

"So tired," she whispered, her voice weak.

"Then sleep. I'll be right here."

She nodded and closed her eyes. In a moment she had fallen asleep, and he was glad that her body would find the rest it needed. He continued to trail his fingers along her arm, becoming more aware of the sensations as he did. He could feel a few abrasions beneath his fingertips. He hoped there was nothing more serious.

Now that there was less risk of tissue damage, he shifted her onto her back. She was sleeping deeply and did not stir as he checked for broken bones, running his hands over her arms, legs, and ribcage. He didn't dare to switch off the sonic screwdriver, relying instead on more old-fashioned methods. He was relieved that he did not feel anything other than a handful of bumps and scrapes. He catalogued the location of each one in his mind.

Darkness had come rapidly to this side of the planet, and the room was very dim. He could not see her any more, and he hesitated to light the lantern. It was possible that the droids could sense light as well as heat. Fortunately he knew that the night lasted only a few hours. As long as Rose remained stable, breathing normally and continuing to grow warmer, he thought that she would be fine until dawn.

The continued coolness of her skin, however, still concerned him. He rolled her back onto her side and drew her close once again.

oOoOo

At first all she could remember was the cold. It had been paralyzing, almost immediately suppressing her ability to breathe. When she had slipped below the surface of the water, she was certain that she would die. But she was alive now, wasn't she?

Her mind felt very foggy, as though she were still asleep, but she could sense that she lay upon her side. The surface beneath her was hard, and she still felt chilly, but something warm was pressed up against her back.

Her entire body had ached and tingled, tiny pricks of pain sparking all over the surface of her skin. She recalled that she had cried, that the tears had flowed beyond her control. But then there had been a pleasant sensation all along her arm, and it had eased the pain and helped her to relax and grow sleepy.

Now she opened her eyes, finally becoming more aware of her surroundings. It was dark; she had no idea where she was. But she knew that she was not alone. There was still that lovely warmth at her back, wrapping around her legs and even touching her belly.

She tried to speak, but only a small croak came from her mouth.

"Rose?" The Doctor's voice was rough yet soft at the same time. "It's all right. Does it still hurt?"

"Mmm," she murmured. Her tongue didn't seem to want to obey her.

"Just stay quiet for a little while."

There was that wonderful, gentle touch on her arm again. Warmth began at her shoulder then ran down her arm to her hand, then back up again. She made a small noise of contentment, and the caresses continued.

She began to drift off to sleep again, but as she shifted her hand slightly, her fingers brushed against something, something soft yet firm. She moved her hand back, feeling warm skin beneath her fingers—skin that did not belong to her.

"Doctor?" she asked, her voice finally obeying her.

"I'm right here."

And indeed he was; he was directly behind her, his mouth only centimeters from her ear. Realization dawned on her quickly, almost before she ran her hand over her bare hip then down her belly, where she felt his arm and hand resting against her. Tentatively she slid her hand back, feeling the skin over the protrusion of his hip bone.

"What're you doin'?" she asked, almost breathless with surprise.

"Had to get you warm." He moved his arm away from her, and she felt his fingers resting on her neck.

His hand felt soft and warm, but her skin began to prickle with goose bumps. Evidently he perceived this small change.

"Still feelin' chilled?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Jus' a little."

He slid his hand down so that his arm could wrap around her again. After a minute, he asked, "Better?"

But she still had goose bumps, and she could feel her heart thumping, and these reactions were not due to the cold. She understood why he was lying next to her, holding her; she knew it was to keep her warm. And she thought she remembered hearing something once about body heat transferring more effectively when skin touched skin. Come to think of it, he seemed to radiate heat…

"Doctor?" she asked, her voice a bit shaky still.

"Yeah?"

"You're so warm."

"Yep." He seemed to wait for her to continue, but when she didn't, he added, "I can regulate my body temperature when I need to."

"An' you needed to just now?"

"Yeah." Now his tone was sober.

"How long ago did it happen then?"

"It's been three or four hours since you fell into the water. We've been here most of that time."

"Here? Like this?"

"Yeah."

She thought that he grew a bit warmer, but she couldn't be sure. She snuggled back into him, seeking his heat both by instinct and by choice.

"How're you feelin'?" he asked.

"Better."

"Anythin' hurt?"

His mouth was very close to her ear, and she could feel a small puff of warm air as he spoke.

"Dunno—some, I 'spose," she admitted, and in fact she was sore all over.

She felt his arms loosen slightly, and she understood that he was trying not to hurt her. She realized, too, that she could now see shadows in the room. It was growing light outside.

They lay quietly for a few minutes until the sun had risen and the dull light seeped in through the single, high window. Looking around, Rose saw her clothes—all of them—lying in a soggy pile on the floor. Next to them lay the Time Lord's clothing—all of it—too. That cast away any doubts she'd had about his leaving on an item or two.

She could feel his body against her back: the firmness of his chest, the slightly softer flesh of his stomach, the hard bones of his hips. His legs pressed against the backs of her thighs and calves, and she thought with surprise that they seemed to just fit together.

But then he was shifting around, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her face. He pulled away from her slightly, and she missed the warmth. She turned her head to meet his gaze.

"Your color's much better," he commented.

"Yeah? What was it like before?"

"Sorta blue." He winced a bit as he spoke the words.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, running his fingers over a sore spot that she was certain would end up as a nasty bruise. She vaguely recalled tumbling down a hill, bumping rocks as she went.

"Maybe that's the worst of it," he was saying.

"What?"

"This," he brushed his thumb over the spot again. "At least nothing's broken."

She wanted to ask how he knew that, but she stopped herself. He had the sonic screwdriver, of course, and it could tell him just about anything.

"Once we get back to the TARDIS, I'll take care of this—the other bruises and scrapes, too. You'll be back to your old self in no time."

"Hey, who're you callin' old?"

He smiled, and the muscles in his face finally relaxed. The familiar expression was very welcome to her.

"So when're we headin' back?" she asked.

"In a while. I wanna wait 'til it's a little warmer out."

Rose yawned. She was still tired, and by no means had she recovered completely from her experience. The Doctor patted his rolled up jacket, and she settled her head against it again.

"Suppose I'd better get up an' leave you to rest." He was about to get out of the sleeping bag and retrieve his clothes when she spoke again.

"Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorta cold again."

"Yeah?" He was already sliding down, bringing his arm around her waist. "Let's see what we can do about that."

She cuddled against him. "Think I might be cold for a while."

"Yeah," he said, "I think you might be, too."

He wrapped his arms around her a little tighter.

oOoOo

There would be time later to think about what had happened, to face how close he had come to losing her. For now, he just wanted to hold her, to keep her warm and safe and next to him. It was all he could do, but it was enough.


End file.
